


starve this sin

by thisapathy



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Codependency, Comfort Sex, Coping, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Past Lori Grimes/Rick Grimes, Post-Divorce
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-05 09:44:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisapathy/pseuds/thisapathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hands settle on Rick's arms and he works against Rick's assertive actions until the kiss is soft and slow and Rick is cradling his face instead of pulling his hair. It’s not like he’s going off to war, it’s not like he’s going away for the summer, even. He’ll be gone two nights and be home Sunday afternoon and they’re both being so ridiculous about it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> takes place after [love you like xo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3847654). not sure how long this is gonna be, maybe ~~3~~ 5 parts? i'm just in love with this AU and felt like the tag could use an update. unbeta'd so any/all mistakes are my own. any comments are super appreciated.  <3

Carl's nearly finished mowing the front yard when Rick's car pulls into the driveway on Thursday evening. He doesn't bother to stop because there's rain coming soon according to the distant thunder. He rethinks the conversation he had with Lori earlier in the afternoon and pushes the mower harder in aggravation.

He's done just in time; he's pushing the mower into the garage as the first raindrops start to fall.

Inside, Rick has already showered and is standing in the kitchen in a clean pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He catches Carl by the elbow as he walks past. "Thanks for doin' the yard."

"Told you I would," Carl replies. "How was work?"

"Long," Rick answers. "School?"

"Fine," Carl shrugs, stretching up just barely to brush their lips together. "Gonna go take a shower."

"Should've waited so I could join you."

Carl grins at the idea. "Nothing says you can't take another shower. And I mean, honestly, it's not like we'll be wasting water or—" He's cut off by Rick's mouth claiming his own and groans softly when Rick's hands settle at his hips. But the kiss ends as quickly and abruptly as it began.

Rick extends his arm in the direction of the bathroom. "After you."

There, Carl undresses with his back to his father, slipping his sweaty clothes off and throwing them beside the overflowing laundry hamper. He knows Lori would have a fit at the sight of it, but that doesn't matter anymore. It hasn't mattered in 17 months.

Some part of him—a very small, insignificant part—misses Lori. He's got to do things for himself now like wash clothes and make dinner. He doesn't really even miss her, just the things she'd do for him. And he knows that makes him sound selfish, cruel, but the last year before the divorce was hell and she's far from innocent in all of this.

Rick and Lori would fight about anything and everything and nothing all at once. Lori would pull Carl into it, use him as a bartering tool, always threatening to leave and take him with her. To this day Carl still doesn't understand it, and he doesn't try to. Things are better this way; he and Rick have each other and that's all they'll ever need.

"You just gonna stand there naked while the water runs cold?"

Carl's pulled out of his daze and shakes his head, stepping into the shower where Rick's already waiting for him. He doesn't want this to turn into steamy shower sex and the more he thinks about Lori leaving and Lori doing all of those horrible things, the closer he wants to be to Rick.

He looks into those same blue eyes that stare back at him in the mirror and wraps his arms around Rick's neck, head resting on Rick's shoulder. "I love you," Carl whispers. And they don't say it a lot, hardly ever, but that's because they don't have to. He relishes the feeling when Rick's hands settle on his sides and slide around to his lower back.

Rick leans in, lips grazing Carl's ear. "Love you too."

Carl smiles against Rick's skin and it dawns on him how they must look and suddenly he's embarrassed, feels stupid because this isn't them. He and Rick are banter back and forth, late night pancake dinners, playful sex on the living room floor. They aren't sentiments exchanged in the shower. He pulls back abruptly and reaches for the shampoo but Rick's beat him to it. He's already pouring a glob on the palm of his hand.

"I can wash my own hair," Carl reminds him. "Seriously?"

Rick ignores him but Carl doesn't fight it when Rick starts to massage it into his scalp. He stands still as long as it takes for Rick to rub it in with skilled fingers.

"Did you ever talk to your mom?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

Rick nudges him back into the stream of water to rinse his hair. "But you did talk to her."

"Yeah," Carl shrugs.

"What'd she say?"

“A lot of stuff,” he states, thinking back to the conversation as he runs the bar of soap quickly over his body. “A lot of it was redundant, actually. Said she was worried about how I was doing in school. What’d you tell her anyway?”

”I didn’t tell her anything,” Rick replies defensively, reaching behind him to turn the water off. Rick steps out, barely wet aside from his arms, and tosses him a towel from the stack on the shelf above the toilet.

Carl catches it, rubbing it first against his hair and then drying the rest of his body. “Why would she think I’m having trouble in school?”

“’Cause she left, maybe.” Rick shrugs.

“Fucking presumptuous,” Carl scoffs. He winds through the house, his anger growing with each step toward his bedroom.

Rick trails after him only after getting dressed. “Carl.”

“ _What_?” he asks dramatically, pulling on a pair of sweats and a faded black t-shirt and ignoring underwear completely.

“Why are you so upset?”

"She wants me to spend the weekend with her," Carl snips. He doesn't mean to, but Rick badgering him is the last straw. "And I don't want to. I really don't fucking want to!"

"Why not?"

"She's just—" He gestures wildly with his hands. He knows what he wants to say—that he thinks Lori is pathetic for what she did to them—but he can't because at the end of the day, she's still his mother and she's trying. “She pisses me off. The whole thing pisses me off. She thinks we can just pick up where we left off and we can’t. _I_ can’t.”

"You can't hold it against her for forever.”

"Listen to yourself!" 

"If you miss her so damn much then _go_."

"It's not that!" he snaps. "It's not that I miss her! It's that she cheated on you and left and y'all expect me to not hold it against her! Just ran away from her responsibilities, just like that," he says, snapping his fingers, "and it's bullshit." He wants to cry but he’s forcing himself to hold it in, tuning out whatever Rick is saying in response. He stares at the dusty flat screen TV that hasn’t been turned on in months because he and Rick watch TV together in the living room now. He sits down on the bed that’s been made since the last time the TV was dusted; there’s no need to sleep in it because for the last six months he’s slept in Rick’s bed.

Rick finally sits down after what seems like five minutes of standing there silently. “Carl.”

Carl has successfully held back his tears and he looks up at the ceiling. “What?”

“You’ve gotta let it go.”

”I don’t want to,” he murmurs, voice wavering just a little.

“Alright," Rick amends, "but least hear your mom out. She’s trying. And you’re too old to be acting like this.”

“I know,” Carl mumbles. “I’m gonna go. I don’t have a choice.”

"You always have a choice,” Rick says objectively.

"I don't have a choice," Carl repeats. If he wants to be anything like Rick—and he does—he has to give Lori a chance. And if he's any semblance of a good person, he'll at least hear his mother out even if that means spending the weekend in the same house as Shane.

"Get dressed and we'll go get something for dinner." Rick runs his fingers through Carl's damp hair before standing up and leaving the room.

Carl leans forward with his elbows on his knees. He can imagine it already: Lori cooking the same bland foods for dinner, Shane trying to drag him along on a Saturday morning fishing trip, Lori cooking the pathetic-looking fish they caught on that trip. It’s underwhelming and it’s the last thing that Carl wants to do when he can just as easily stay home, sleep till noon and work on his history paper which in all honesty sounds a lot more fun than visiting his mother. But he’ll go, and he’ll hate it, but at least he’ll have something to look forward to: the prospect of coming back to the home he’s always known.

* * *

Friday morning is a disaster and it’s partly due to the fact Carl’s almost late because Rick didn’t wake him before he left. He makes it to first period before it even registers that, apparently, he grabbed Rick’s shirt out of the dryer this morning instead of his own. He sighs and rests his head on his hand.

The entire day is a blur and that’s only because it’s Friday and he’s not actually looking forward to the weekend. When the bell finally rings at 2:30, Sophia offers him a ride home but he declines, saying he’d rather walk.

So Carl’s left to walk home and when he gets there, he throws two sets of clothes into his red duffel bag along with his toothbrush, deodorant and phone charger. He doesn’t bother with anything else. He knows that he’s going to be subjected to Lori’s cooking so while he’s waiting for Rick to get home, he makes spaghetti and garlic bread. That way he won't go to bed hungry and Rick will have something for dinner.

Lori’s coming at four so Carl doesn’t wait for Rick to get home to scarf his food down. He’s putting his dishes in the sink when Rick walks through the front door.

“Hey!”

“In here,” Carl calls, and when he turns around Rick is smirking at him.

"You're wearing my clothes now?"

Carl glances down at his slightly-too-large denim shirt and tries not to smile back. "I didn't even realize I was wearing it until I was in first period." And it's true: he woke up late this morning and grabbed the first shirt that his hand touched in the dryer. He snatches the hat on top of Rick’s head and places it on his own for further emphasis.

Rick laughs then and steps forward until Carl's pressed up against the counter (not that he minds). "Why'd you stay in it then?" he drawls, reaching up to undo the first button on Carl's shirt.

Carl shrugs because he honestly doesn't know and the thought hasn't crossed his mind. Carl moans as Rick presses a kiss to the base of his throat, his fingers undoing a second button. He moans at the scratch of Rick's beard and he's sure this is going somewhere so he reaches for Rick's belt buckle. But then Rick pulls away, and Carl groans.

"Why do you do that?" he asks, exasperated and pulling the hat off his head.

Rick walks over to the laundry closet and busily strips out of his uniform, tossing garments into the washing machine. "Do what?" he asks in mock innocence.

Carl's still in the same spot, arms bent at the elbow and fingers gripping the counter behind him. He ignores Rick's question because Rick is clearly in a mood and he honestly doesn't care enough right now to humor him.

"What time’s your mom coming?"

Carl’s eyes give the clock above the stove a fleeting glance as he buttons the two buttons Rick undid. “Soon.”

Rick approaches him again, stripped to his boxers and white t-shirt, and definitely isn't teasing this time when he kisses Carl hard on the mouth. Carl's caught off guard, fumbling with his arms as his father's fingers tangle in his hair. His hands settle on Rick's arms and he works against Rick's assertive actions until the kiss is soft and slow and Rick is cradling his face instead of pulling his hair. It’s not like he’s going off to war, it’s not like he’s going away for the summer, even. He’ll be gone two nights and be home Sunday afternoon and they’re both being so ridiculous about it.

There’s a knock at the door and Carl’s heart is pounding in his chest. They jump apart and Carl wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He grabs his overnight bag from the kitchen table and walks to the open door with Rick trailing behind him.

Lori looks the same, but softer somehow. Her long dark hair is pulled back into a ponytail and she’s dressed in denim capris and a white sleeveless blouse. Carl gives her a small smile, pushing the screen door open.

“Hey,” Rick says, but that’s all he says, and he isn’t even smiling. Lori mutters a small ‘hi’ in return.

Rick shoves Carl out the door playfully. “Be good.”

He laughs. “I will.”

“You got everything?” Lori asks, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“Yep.”

They walk out to the same old van Lori’s had for the last 8 years. Carl throws his bag in the back and climbs into the front seat, thankful that Lori has the sense to leave Shane behind. Lori gets in shortly after, turning the van on and then looking over at Carl. “Your dad has a beard?” she asks, incredulous.

“Yeah.”

Lori checks the mirrors before pulling onto the street and heading for the highway. "Since when?”

“He lost the gumption to shave after you walked out on us,” Carl says, and he says it before he realizes what exactly it is he’s saying. “Sorry,” he blurts, shrinking down in his seat.

Lori’s knuckles are white from gripping the steering wheel. “You gonna be like this the whole weekend?”

“No. I’m sorry,” Carl repeats.

Lori goes silent and Carl’s mind starts to drift with each passing mile.


	2. Chapter 2

What should be an hour and fifteen minute drive to Macon takes more like an hour and forty minutes in rush hour traffic. Carl doesn't mind because the later they are, the less time he has to spend playing nice with Shane. They make small talk which includes Lori insisting that Carl needs a haircut to which Carl promptly answers 'no.'   
  
Eventually they turn down a two way road lined with pine trees Lori pulls into a long driveway that leads to a tan house with black shutters and a picket fence. Carl takes a look at the street and decides that if he didn't know better, he'd still think they were in their old neighborhood. With a heavy sigh he grabs his bag from the back seat and follows Lori into the house.   
  
The front door opens to the living room and it's nothing like the old house in Atlanta. The floors are wood and the walls are a buttery yellow with stark white crown molding. Plush microfiber couches sit parallel to the fireplace along with floor lamps and two matching bookcases.   
  
The kitchen is just as immaculate: the wood floors are several shades darker than the rest of the house, offset by bright white appliances, and sandy colored cabinets line two of the walls.   
  
Lori sets her purse and keys on the counter and Carl just stands there, shifting his bag to the opposite shoulder, until a large black and brown dog appears literally out of nowhere. He jumps only out of surprise; he isn't scared of dogs. It's odd, though, because when he was 9 he asked for a puppy and while Rick was fine with the idea, Lori had the final say and the final say was no, so Carl assumes the dog was Shane's idea. The dog is still just a puppy but he's big enough that when he jumps on Carl, his paws reach Carl's shoulders.   
  
“That’s Cooper,” Lori says, reaching for the dog’s collar and pulling him gently from Carl’s shoulders.   
  
"Where's Shane?" Carl asks, not because he cares but because he wants to prepare himself.   
  
"Working late," Lori answers. "Quick tour of the house?" Only she starts off down the hallway before she gets an answer and Carl trails behind her.   
  
They pass the backyard complete with a deck and a small set of lawn furniture, the all-white bathroom with a pedestal sink, the master bedroom, a completely empty room, and a third bedroom with stacked boxes lining the far wall. A full size bed is in the corner along with one of the dressers Lori took from the old house after the divorce. Carl guesses he'll be staying in this room. He watches his mother open her mouth to speak twice before she actually says anything.   
  
"Are you okay with staying in here?"   
  
"Yeah," he shrugs. Does he honestly have a choice? Probably not. He crosses over to the bed and drops his bag on the floor.   
  
"Are you hungry?" Lori asks hopefully. Maybe she's desperate to make a small win or desperate to have something to do. Either way, the awkwardness of this whole situation is getting worse and Carl wishes he would've never agreed to it.   
  
"I ate before I left. I made us spaghetti," he elaborates, noting the obvious discomfort in Lori's eyes.   
  
"You cook?"   
  
"Don't sound so surprised. Dad cooks too," he offers. Lori is just full of questions. "Mostly on the weekends."   
  
Lori gives him a small smile. "I'll believe it when I see it."   
  
Carl thinks that's a stupid choice of words because the chances of Lori seeing Rick cook is slim to none. "Um, is it cool if I stay in here for a little bit? I have a paper due Monday that I need to work on."   
  
Lori looks relieved by Carl's request. "Of course. I'll get dinner started in a little bit."

Carl nods and waits until Lori is out of earshot to groan. It's going to be a long 53 hours. 

* * *

Carl is deep into his paper with 13 tabs open in Google Chrome and headphones in his ears when Lori comes to get him for dinner. She looks exasperated when she pokes her head in the door. "Hey!" 

He glances up, removing one earbud. "What?"   
  
"I've been calling you for five minutes."   
  
"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "I had headphones in."   
  
"I can see that." Lori is absolutely not amused. "Dinner's ready."   
  
Carl licks his lips. "Can I eat in here?"   
  
"Nope. Shane's home, c'mon. We’re waiting on you."   
  
Carl rolls his eyes because he thinks Lori should give up the whole trying-to-be-a-big-happy-family thing. Although, on the way to the kitchen he realizes that his history paper can be his out if Shane tries to plan some sort of bullshit bonding session.   
  
Shane's sitting at the head of the table and he doesn't know why he's so shocked; Lori always insisted that he, she and Rick eat together at the table as a family.   
  
"Hey, Carl," Shane greets him.   
  
Carl pulls his chair out and plops down. “Hey.”   
  
They sit in silence as Lori sets the green beans, roasted potatoes and meatloaf on the table. Carl holds back a grimace upon seeing what Lori is serving and they dish their plates from the pots in the center of the table. It’s quiet except for the clinking of dishes and Carl isn’t hungry but he knows that if he doesn’t eat, Lori will be all over him.   
  
"How’s school?" Shane asks, breaking the minutes-long silence.   
  
Carl shrugs a shoulder. “Good.”   
  
“How's your dad doing?”   
  
The question catches Carl off guard and he freezes with his fork halfway to his mouth. “Uh,” he begins, but he can’t find a proper response so he takes a bite of not-quite-done potatoes. “I don’t know,” he finishes.   
  
"You don't know?" Shane echoes in disbelief.   
  
Lori’s probably rolling her eyes but Carl isn’t looking at her so he can't be sure. Carl bites—literally bites—his tongue to keep a smart-ass remark from slipping out. “He’s doing okay, I guess."   
  
“Good,” Shane nods. “That’s good.”   
  
And he’s pissed and wants to tell Shane to fuck off and call him a coward for doing what he did and a hundred other things, but for now he settles on eating the rest of his dinner in near silence. He listens to the two of them talk about the same boring topics that Rick and Lori used to talk about: what happened at work, bills, and house repairs. Before Carl knows it he’s run out of undercooked potatoes to eat and asks, "Can, um, can I go work on my paper?"   
  
"I'd rather you stay here until we're done," Lori answers.   
  
"But I'm done," Carl argues.   
  
Lori sighs and then shoos him. "Fine. Go."   
  
"Thanks," he says quietly, quickly, and he can't get out of there soon enough. 

* * *

Hours later there's a soft knock at the door and Lori pokes her head in. "Can I come in?"   
  
Carl shrugs from where he's sitting in bed with his laptop balanced on his thighs. "It's your house."   
  
Lori slips in and closes the door. "You aren't trying very hard."   
  
"What?"   
  
"I know you don't exactly want to be here and to be fair. I didn't force you to come.”   
  
“I know that.”   
  
“Well, Shane thinks you hate him."   
  
"He's not wrong," Carl shrugs. Maybe hate is too strong of a word but he definitely resents the hell out of Shane for what he did with Lori. Carl hesitates and then closes his laptop. "Do you blame me?"   
  
"I just thought you'd be mature and try to suck it up for the whole two days you're here. I know you wanna blame someone for what happened between me and your dad, but don't blame Shane."   
  
And Carl's furious because Shane is literally the person Carl can blame with good reason. Shane had the power to say no, he should've said no to Lori, and Carl doesn't know who started the affair but that's neither here nor there because Lori and Shane were both in the wrong and they made out like bandits after the divorce.   
  
It's out of Carl’s mouth before he’s even aware of saying it: "Are you fucking kidding me?"   
  
Lori's eyes look as if they're going to fall out of her skull and her mouth is agape.   
  
"Sorry! Oh my god, Mom, sorry. I'm sorry," he spews vigorously because although Rick's heard worse things come out of Carl's mouth, Lori's never heard him say so much as 'hell'.   
  
"Yeah, you better be," she snaps, hand on the door knob. "Look, I'm going to bed. Wake up with a better attitude tomorrow."   
  
He nods.   
  
"Goodnight."   
  
Carl splays his fingers out on the lid of his laptop. "G'night," he says softly as Lori closes the door. He decides that he'll go to bed too because he finished his paper an hour ago and honestly there's nothing else to do. He sets his laptop on the floor, flips the light off and takes his jeans off. He goes to take his shirt off, pauses with his fingers on the top button and upon remembering Rick’s reaction to seeing him in it, decides against it. Carl climbs into bed wearing his underwear and Rick's shirt and falls asleep to the awful feeling of an empty bed. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i feel like this chapter's absolutely awful and choppy. also it's edited to the best of my ability even though i'm hopped up on decongestants bc i'm sick. hopefully the last 2 parts will be better. <3

Carl wakes up to the annoyingly bright sunlight streaming in through the sheer curtains. When he glances at his phone he sees that it's only 7 o'clock and tries to convince himself to go back to sleep. He closes his eyes and imagines he's waking up next to Rick, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his underwear but it feels weird and gross so he abandons that idea fairly quickly. He takes to tossing and turning and playing on his phone until he hears Shane's truck start outside and then decides to pull himself out of bed and venture into the living room.

Lori is curled up on the end of the sofa with a cup of hot tea in one hand and a magazine in the other. "Hey." She smiles.

"Hi," Carl responds, and for whatever reason Cooper decides to leave his bed in the corner and walk over to him.

"You hungry? I can make you something."

"I can get my own breakfast, Mom." He cringes because that definitely came out the wrong way.

"Okay," Lori responds immediately.

"I just meant that you don't have to do it for me," he explains.

"Okay," she repeats. Her tone is neutral but Carl knows she's going to hold that against him for the next few minutes.

"Is there coffee?"

Lori sounds confused when she answers, "Yes."

Carl walks into the kitchen with Cooper trailing behind him.

"Mugs are in the cabinet above the coffee pot," she calls.

Carl opens the cabinet and grabs a large white mug from the bottom shelf. "Creamer?"

"All we have is milk."

He groans because of course Shane drinks his coffee black. Lori prefers tea, doesn't drink coffee, and it's totally Shane's fault that Carl has to 1% milk for half and half. He goes back into the living room and sits on the opposite side of the couch from his mom.

"Your dad lets you drink coffee?" Lori asks incredulously.

Carl wants to laugh because drinking coffee isn't the only thing Rick lets him do. "Yeah," he answers, taking a sip. Lori closes her magazine and tosses it onto the table as an uncomfortable silence settles between them. He glances around the room and the only framed pictures are ones of him and Lori and Lori and Shane and he sort of wants to smash all of them.

"Do you have plans today?"

"Me?" Carl asks and of course Lori is talking to him. She can't be talking to Cooper because she isn't the type of person to talk to animals. "Um, no? I literally know nothing about this town, so..."

"Well, Shane took half the day off. He wants the two of you to do something together later."

Carl's heart races at the mere thought which is annoying, actually, and he takes another drink of his coffee. Dinner last night was bad enough and he can't imagine spending any significant amount of time with Shane alone. It's awkward and unfair and he's honestly afraid of what he'll say to Shane when Lori's not around.

"Mom," he says slowly, "I don't—" He glances over at his mother who looks so small and vulnerable that there's no way he can possibly tell her no. "Fine."

"Good." Lori gets up to take their empty mugs to the kitchen and returns shortly. "I need to go to the farmer's market. Wanna come?"

"When?"

"Soon as I get ready."

"Can Cooper come?" Carl asks not only because he's sure Cooper would probably love it but because Cooper is the perfect crutch if Carl is going to be forced to spend time with his mom.

She glances at the dog with absolutely no emotion and Carl kind of resents her for that. "Sure, I guess."

He smiles a little. "I'll go get dressed."

* * *

On the twelve minute drive to the market Carl learns that Cooper is half German Shepherd and half Rottweiler and Shane found him as a stray when he was just a few months old.

The market is less than thrilling and Carl opts to walk Cooper around the perimeter of the premises insteading of trailing behind Lori. They're at least half a mile from the market when Carl's phone rings in his pocket. Honestly Carl's expecting it to be Lori telling him to come back but Carl is pleasantly surprised to see Rick's name on the screen so he doesn't hesitate to answer. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," Rick responds. "How's it goin'?"

"Not great," Carl drawls. "Not horrible either." He pauses and it's on the tip of his tongue to say that he's already homesick but that would be stupid so he doesn't. "There's a dog at least."

"Your mother got a dog?" Rick asks in disbelief.

"Shane found him behind a dumpster or something." He doesn't care enough to get the story straight. "He's cool, though. We should get a dog."

"Maybe," Rick replies. Carl knows him well enough to know that he's being sincere.  
"You got any plans tonight?"

"Supposedly Shane wants to do something together which is bullshit to be honest, but whatever. It's only one day."

"I'm proud of you for goin'. It's the right thing to do."

"I know," Carl replies, his voice softening a little.

"Just wanted to call and see how things were. I gotta get back to work."

"Okay." He opens his mouth again in anticipation of saying "I love you" but Rick cuts him off.

"Bye."

"Bye." Carl ends the call and sighs not only because he no longer has anyone to talk to but because he misses being home. It's what he's known for so long and it's what he loves and craves. Luckily Lori calls him soon after and they're headed back to the house within 10 minutes.

In the van, Cooper splays across the backseat and Carl rides with his head leaning against the window and Lori's bag of produce in his lap. "Do you know what Shane's gonna try to make me do with him?" he asks, staring at tree after tree as they pass by.

"No idea," she answers.

"I don't want to do anything with him."

"I know." She pauses and readjusts her hands on the steering wheel. "But I might as well tell you right now that we have a benefit picnic to go to tomorrow."

"What?"

Lori snaps, "I don't want to hear it. It's for Shane's best friend."

He wants so badly to ask Lori if Shane is going to fuck that guy's wife, too, but he knows that wouldn't end well. Instead, he scoffs. "Whatever."

* * *

Once they're back Carl barricades himself in the spare room with his laptop. Cooper makes himself comfortable lying on the floor beside Carl's bed as Carl puts the finishing touches on his history paper. He saves it, emailing it to himself as a precaution and puts his laptop away for the time being. He stretches out face down on the bed and tries to relax.

It seems like it's hours that he stays like this. His phone goes off once and it's Sophia asking how his weekend is going and Carl's response is dismal. He checks all of his social media in a continuous loop and tries three different times to fall back asleep. He's almost asleep on the third try but then Shane's obnoxiously loud truck pulls up right outside his window and Carl groans. Thankfully he's left alone for at least twenty more minutes before someone taps his knuckles on the doorframe.

Carl rolls over and sits up to see that Shane's already out of his uniform.

"Can I come in?"

Carl shrugs. "It's your house."

Shane does that stupid half-slumped thing like he's the most relaxed person in the world. "You ready to go?"

"Where are we going?"

"Gonna teach you how to drive."

Carl snorts because Rick taught him how to drive a year ago. "I already have my license," he says cooly.

"Really?" Shane shifts uncomfortably. "Your mom didn't mention that."

"She didn't ask me."

He scratches the back of his head. "Wanna learn how to shoot?"

Carl looks down at the bed. "Rick taught me that, too." He pauses. "You could teach me how to drink," he offers. He's kidding; he had his first beer at a party over a year ago. But Shane doesn't need to know that.

"Funny," Shane retorts, only he obviously isn't amused and he's starting to lose his cool. "Look, man, you don't wanna have anything to do with me, that's fine. But don't treat your mom like crap, okay?"

"I'm not," Carl replies defensively. Lori must've told Shane that things between them have been awkward and tense. Honestly, Carl is actually treating her better than he thinks she deserves. He wants to tell Shane that but he doesn't dare. As Shane's leaving the room, an idea pops into Carl's mind that will probably satisfy both Shane's and Lori's need to pretend like they're one big happy family. Carl won't have to eat Lori's cooking again or spend any time alone with Shane; everyone's a winner.

"Wait," Carl calls. "Why don't we all go have lunch somewhere?"

Shane turns around with a thoughtful expression and nods once. "Alright, sounds good." 


	4. Chapter 4

The second half of yesterday was less than horrible if Carl's being totally honest. They ate at a place called Rookery that has the best burger Carl has tasted, ever. And after their late lunch, the three of the traveled back to the house and Carl was coerced to sit outside while Lori and Shane worked in the backyard until the sun began to set.

Now, though, now Carl is packing his things up because it's Sunday and as soon as they're done at the benefit for Shane's friend, Lori is going to drive him home and he'll be so, so glad to see Rick again. He's rolling his laptop cord up when Lori pokes her head in the door.

"You almost ready?"

He nods and, just for the sake of his sanity, has to clarify: "You're taking me home right after, right? So I need to bring my stuff?"

"Yes," Lori answers, exasperated, because she's answered this question three times in 12 hours. "Five minutes, okay?"

Carl nods and she's gone again. He doesn't bother to make the bed, knows his mother will strip it and wash the sheets as soon as he leaves. Now that he thinks about it, he should probably wash his and Rick's sheets when he gets home because it's been at least two weeks since the last time he did it.

He places his laptop on top of everything else in his bag, wedging the cord right beside it, and takes one last look around the room. It feels just as bare and cold as the day he first saw it and, truthfully, hopes he'll never have to stay in it again.

He zips his bag up, slings it over his shoulder and goes to find Cooper. He says goodbye, almost asks Shane if he can take Cooper home, but then Lori is ushering them out the door and he doesn't get the chance.

* * *

Carl regrets his clothing choice of flannel and jeans as soon as they step out of the van. It's approximately 1,000 degrees out and the shady spots have already been claimed by the two most annoying things in the world: old people and families with small children.

Shane says something about going to help so-and-so set up the tables, which is bad news because Carl realizes that they're actually early and the majority of the crowd hasn't arrived yet, but good news because hopefully there'll be more shade and chairs soon enough.

"C'mon," Lori calls over her shoulder, heading god-knows-where.

Carl follows her like a puppy and smoke from the industrial barbecue pits makes him cough. They've literally been here for 2 minutes and he's already so over it. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Help out?" she suggests.

"With what?" And is he _whining_? He's definitely whining.

"Go find Shane. Ask him." Lori turns her back to talk to a woman with short blonde hair.

Carl trudges over to where Shane is and hangs back and he's almost convinced himself to just wander off but then Shane spots him and: "Hey! C'mere and help me with this."

Carl literally drags his feet over to where Shane is. "What?"

"Start unfolding these chairs and put 'em at the tables. Ten on each side."

Carl rolls his eyes because, honestly, who does Shane think he is? But because Carl is trying and because he wants to go home as soon as he can, he starts unfolding metal chairs and placing them along the tables. He listens to Shane and two other guys shoot off complaints about their girlfriends, briefly hears his himself referred to as "Lori's son" which is actually not annoying because Shane isn't claiming Carl as his own. Carl briefly wonders if Shane will refer to him as his stepson when they get married, and then he wonders if Shane will actually marry Lori and then he decides that he doesn't really care either way.

He wonders how long the two of them will last and how long he'll have to play nice with Shane. He misses Lori, he does, but there's still so much bitter resentment that keeps him from being happy for her. Maybe he'll get over it, maybe the sense of betrayal will fade over time, but if Rick's attitude is any sort of indication, it'll be with Carl for a long time coming.

In retrospect, the weekend hasn't been as bad as Carl imagined it'd be but that's because he's put himself in check multiple times, bit his tongue, and has been as tolerable as he can possibly be. He's hoping that Lori won't expect it to be a regular thing because it won't.

Carl unfolds all the chairs there are to unfold and starts off in Lori's direction again, hearing (and ignoring) when Shane calls, "Thanks, Carl!"

By the time he's back with Lori she's sitting at the table with the same blonde woman she was talking to when they first arrived.

"Hey," Lori smiles, pointing at the blonde woman. "This is Natalie; she lives a few houses down from us."

Carl extends his hand because, yeah, he's salty, but he has manners. "I'm Carl," he supplies.

"I know," she replies, smiling and shaking his hand briefly. "Your mom's told me a lot about you."

He tries to smile. "Really?"

"Sure!" She smiles at him, all teeth. "So, you ready to be a big brother?"

He blinks once, twice. " _What_?"

Lori's face pales. "We hadn't talked about that yet," she says, more to herself than to anyone else.

Carl stares at Lori, hoping that she'll tell him that it's not what he thinks, but instead she looks back at him like she's begging for mercy. "Oh my god," Carl snarls, because that's all that can come out of his mouth before he's walking away.

Lori jogs up to him but Carl's steps don't cease even when she grabs his arm. "Honey—"

"Don't touch me," he mutters, wriggling out of her weak grip.

"Carl!"

"I hate you!" he snaps. It's not true; he hates what Lori did to them, but he doesn't actually hate _her_. Either way, that stops her from following him and he doesn't stop walking until he's sitting outside the brick building where the bathrooms are.

He leans back against the wall and slides down until he's sitting with his forehead against his knees and suddenly everything makes so much sense. Lori's sudden, desperate attempt at redemption wasn't because she felt guilty about leaving, but because she's pregnant. What's she thinking, anyway? She's pushing 40, hasn't had a baby for 17 years, and aside from all of the other logical health reasons, _what the fuck?_

Carl wipes angry tears from his eyes and gets his phone with trembling hands because right now in this moment, Rick is the only thing that can possibly ground him right now. He dial's Rick's cell number, followed by the house phone, but Rick doesn't answer either of them. Carl finds himself whimpering 'come on' on the third attempt to get ahold of his father. Ultimately, he leaves a shaky voicemail: "Hey, um, can you call me?"

He hangs up, tosses his phone onto the ground and wills himself to stop crying. And it's not like he's sobbing, but he hasn't cried since he was 12 and he feels stupid for doing it now. He wipes his eyes one last time and is thankful when no more tears fall.

He wishes he would've never agreed to come. Had he waited, mulled it over for a few more weeks, maybe he could've been prepared. He laughs cynically to himself because just an hour ago he actually thought this weekend would turn out okay. But now it's the furthest thing from okay, and so is he.

He doesn't even notice until Lori is three feet away that she's standing there and when he looks up, eyes red from crying, she's holding her keys.

He stands to his feet, grabs his phone and follows her silently to the van.

* * *

The air in the car is tense and awkward and Carl is insistent that Lori apologize first. But it doesn't exactly go down that way because: "Why did you even come?"

"You asked me to."

"—you obviously didn't want to be here," she continues, "I can see it, Shane sees it. You should've just stayed home."

"I came because you asked me to!" Carl snips, turning to face his mother and glaring at her. "You asked me to spend the weekend with you and Dad thought it was a good idea!" He crosses his arms and slumps in his seat. "You're the one who left us and I have a right to be pissed about it."

There's a long pause and Lori's voice is softer the next time she speaks. "I realize that, but it doesn't give you the right to treat me like I'm not a person."

Carl rolls his eyes because he's heard Lori use that exact same line on Rick before. He counters with: "Just because you're happier doesn't mean you can act like nothing happened. You left us so you could go start a new life with Shane and didn't even think—didn't even ask me if I wanted to come with you."

"I didn't think you'd want to!"

"I didn't want to!" he sneers. "The point is you didn't _ask me_! You didn't even care." And now Lori is crying, maybe because it's true, and whether Lori is trying to manipulate him or not, he feels bad for what he said earlier. "I don't hate you," he murmurs softly.

She hesitates, reaches over and takes his hand.

"I just hate what you did to us." He lets her hold his hand for a second longer before he pulls it away.

"I'm sorry," she whispers.

Carl doesn't believe her, and he doesn't say anything else.

* * *

He's so relieved when Lori turns onto his street that he unbuckles and grabs his bag from the back. His hand is on the door handle before Lori even stops the car, and he hops out, not looking back.


	5. Chapter 5

The front door is locked and Carl rummages for his keys with unsteady hands, unlocking the door in twice the amount of time it usually takes. When it opens he's hit with the familiar smell that fills his senses but there's only one other thing he needs to know that he's home.

He steps into the bedroom just as Rick is stepping out of the adjoining bathroom, fresh out of the shower and wearing nothing but a pair of jeans. Carl drops his bag and rushes to him before Rick can even greet him.

The force of the hug nearly knocks Rick off balance as Carl presses his face into the crook of Rick's neck and Rick smells like soap and deodorant and home.

Rick's lips are against Carl's hair, arms tight around his shoulders. "Hey, you're home early."

He nods, doesn't quite trust his voice yet, and breathes a trembling sigh against Rick's neck.

"Everything okay?"

Nothing is okay because he missed Rick, missed him more than anything, but can't even admit that because he's too upset about Shane and Lori and the entire weekend. "I tried to call you," he murmurs.

"Phone died last night, forgot to charge it," Rick explains. "What's wrong?"

"Everything," Carl whispers. Everything is wrong and he's scared he's going to start crying again. Maybe it's to take the focus away from him or maybe he's just upset, but for some reason he can't let it go. "Why didn't you answer?"

"I told you my phone died!" Rick pushes back and holds him at an arm's length, demanding, "What happened?"

Carl decides that is definitely too far and presses himself against Rick's front again. "Lori's pregnant," he murmurs. He can't stomach calling her "Mom" right now, and even the admission alone makes his skin crawl.

"Oh," Rick breathes. He's either speechless or holding his anger in; Carl doesn't really know.

"I'm so mad, I just—"

Rick presses a kiss to his cheek. "What'd you say when she told you?"

"She didn't tell me," he mumbles into Rick's skin. "Her friend asked me if I was ready to be a big brother. Like what the fuck, am I four? Honestly." He closes his eyes and wishes it would all just magically erase from his memory, wishes the entire weekend hadn't happened. "It was stupid," he admits. He licks his lips, eyes glassy with unshed tears. "The whole weekend was a load of bullshit. Trying to make me and Shane spend time together—it's fucking stupid. I _hate_ Shane."

Rick cards his fingers through Carl's hair. "I know."

Carl lets out a slow breath. "I don't want to talk about it anymore. It's over, I'm fine now." It's a lie; he's far from fine, but a lot closer to it now that he's home.

"We don't have to talk about it." Rick pulls back, brushing his hair away from forehead and kissing it softly. "Wanna talk about something else instead?"

Carl doesn't hesitate because he knows exactly where this is leading, and he's so, so into it. "I missed you," he says softly, the corners of his mouth turning up just the slightest.

Rick's mouth mirrors his own. "Is that so?"

It's ridiculous how good Rick looks in low-sitting jeans. Carl's seen it a thousand times before, but it still does it for him every time. He reaches out with tentative hands, sliding his fingertips down Rick's abs until they rest at the crotch of his pants.  
"Mhm," he answers.

Rick tilts his chin up with two fingers and kisses him. He's looming over Carl, taking control, and Carl can't help himself: he cups Rick's cock through his jeans and fuck, Rick's hard already. He groans softly at this discovery, the thought of that hot, heavy cock stretching his lips almost too much to handle.

Carl moves his hands from Rick's crotch, but only because he has to, and now they're that much closer. He feels Rick's cock against his hip and Rick is so good at this; he knows just what to do. His hand tangles in Carl's hair and the other slides down to cup his ass.

Carl groans because he absolutely can't resist thrusting up against Rick's grinding and it's his fault that the kiss stops because he can't concentrate on this many things at once. He's got a one-track mind and he's conflicted because everything feels so good.

His head lolls to the side when Rick nips at his jaw and Rick's cock is still pressed against his hip and Rick's hands are still on his ass but Carl _has_ to do this or he's going to lose it. He pulls back, lunging for the waistband of Rick's jeans but Rick stops him just as fast.

"Please," Carl whimpers. It sounds so pathetic even to his own ears.

Rick ignores his plea, unexpectedly grabbing the hem of Carl's shirt and pulling it over his head. Carl's sure Rick's mouth is going straight for his neck, even tilts his head in anticipation for it, but Rick's attention is on his jeans, which he's undoing with ease.

Carl huffs and pushes them down until he can kick them to the side, and now he's in his underwear and Rick is still in pants and it's not fair. He takes matters into his own hands and sinks to his knees, unzipping and unbuttoning Rick's jeans frantically. He pulls them down just far enough and _fuck_ , Rick's not wearing boxers or underwear of any sort and his cock is there, heavy and hard and waiting.

Rick's laughing at him for some reason and Carl is determined to shut him up.

He grabs Rick's cock by the base and guides it to his mouth. At the first touch his eyes slide closed and Rick's fingers knot in his hair. And it's everything he knows it to be: arousing, intoxicating, euphoric. He flicks his tongue over the head before sucking him in, hard and firm.

His tongue curls at the underside as he sucks, left hand resting around Rick's thigh. Rick pulls his hair and Carl whimpers, not because it hurts, but because it makes his own cock throb. He wants to touch himself, almost does, but then Rick distracts him with thrusts he can't handle. Rick's hips stutter and his cock slides too far and Carl has to pull off.

Rick hauls him up, kisses him hard and rough and pushes him back toward the bed at the same time. Carl can't even get his tongue in Rick's mouth before Rick pulls away. He whines, annoyed and antsy and wanton, "Please."

And then Rick takes his own jeans off and Carl's breath catches because yes, they're almost there. Rick pulls his underwear off without warning, tossing them to the side.

Carl lies flat out on the bed and Rick climbs over him on all fours. And finally, _finally_ , Rick kisses him, but it's soft and quick and Carl wants more.

At the exact moment he sits up to protest, Rick trails down his torso, alternating between kissing and sucking, stopping to concentrate just below his navel and then his hipones and Carl squirms. He knows where this is heading and he wants it, craves it, because Rick is so good at it. He tangles his fingers in Rick's hair and he wants to watch but at the same time he wants to close his eyes and arch his back.

He gives into the latter, gasping when Rick flips him over and spreads him open. The sound he emits when Rick's tongue drags over his hole is embarrassing: high and loud and feminine. Rick chuckles against his skin, warm and moist, and slips his arms under Carl's thighs, pulling him impossibly closer until his face is essentially buried in Carl's ass.

Carl could die right now and he wouldn't even care because he's sure this is the best feeling in the world. Rick's tongue probes into him and lays a hand down on his left cheek in a loud smack and Carl moans. He wants this for hours, can come from Rick's tongue alone, and he wants Rick to eat his ass until his thighs bleed from beard burn.

The room is quiet aside from the wet sounds of Rick's mouth and Carl's soft little whimpers and grunts that he can't—won't—hold back. His cock is pressed between his belly and the mattress, dripping pre-come already, and if Rick doesn't stop, he's going to come. And then Rick's tongue pushes all the way in.

Carl's hips snap forward and away from Rick's glorious mouth. "Stop," he breathes, although his tone does nothing to convey he actually wants Rick to stop.

Rick presses a soft kiss to his hole, nips at his thigh. "Stop?"

Carl sits up, cheeks flushed, blue eyes hooded. He glances down at Rick's hard cock and has to supress a shiver. "'M gonna come if you don't," he admits, sheepish. He watches as Rick reaches, grabs the lube from the nightstand drawer and sets it beside him. "How do you want me?"

Rick advances on him until Carl is lying down under him. "You let me worry 'bout that," he murmurs, voice low and rough and titillating.

Carl watches Rick slick his fingers and they aren't even in him yet and he's already growing impatient. He wants Rick to fuck him open, spread him wide, balls deep until he's screaming.

Rick stretches out on top of him and reaches between his thighs, sliding a slick finger in and immediately it's not enough.

Carl stretches up to kiss along Rick's jar to his ear. "More," he breathes. To his surprise, Rick doesn't protest, slips a second finger alongside the first and it burns but Carl's able to breathe and relax and then it's nothing but pleasure. Rick knows exactly what to do to make Carl's mouth fall open with a sharp gasp.

He recovers, pretends he has at least some control over his body, reaches down and takes his cock into his hand. Rick's is still hot and throbbing, pressed against his thigh, and Carl's mouth waters at the thought of it inside of him. He's writhing now, trying to work against the gentle thrusts of Rick's fingers, and his nipples are hard and his cock is dripping and it's like he's in heat.

" _Please_ ," he whines, voice cracking, "oh my god."

Rick chuckles, dips down to nip at his neck. "Yeah?"

Carl can't make words, groans instead.

Rick pulls his fingers out and slicks his cock with the same hand and Carl watches with his bottom lip between his teeth. And then Rick leans down and apparently they're not done with foreplay yet because then Rick's fingers are in him again and Rick's mouth is sucking vigorously on his neck.

Carl sighs, wants to protest, but Rick's mouth is his favorite thing and he doesn't really mind if he has to wait a little longer for his cock. He reaches up, hand cupping the back of Rick's head lightly. His chest is heaving already, hair fanned out on the white sheets, and he whispers so softly, "I love you."

Apparently those are the magic words because Rick's mouth pulls away and Carl's pushed onto his belly again, and then hauled up on his hands and knees. Without warning, Rick pushes inside in one short thrust.

"Fuck!" Carl half-gasp-half-moans. He strains to look back but Rick pushes his head down onto the mattress and Carl is so, so into it. He doesn't even have to move his hips back, doesn't have to beg, doesn't have to tell Rick what he wants because Rick knows and fuck, does he deliver

Carl's grip on the sheets matches the hold Rick has on his hips when he starts to fuck him, quick and brutal. He knows he'll have bruised hips later, knows they'll hurt like a bitch, but right now he doesn't care because he wants to feel it in his ribs.

The sounds they're making are filthy, wet, good. Carl's whines are muffled by the mattress and above him Rick is panting, and Carl needs release, needs it like fire needs oxygen.

He knows that Rick won't last much longer, never does when they fuck like this—hard, rough, fast. He shifts, angling his hips so that Rick's brushing his prostate with every sharp thrust. Carl's close, too, feels it in his lower belly first and then his vision is white and blue and he's coming, untouched, on the sheets with a soft mantra of "oh, oh, oh."

His arms and legs give out beneath him but Rick is still thrusting, still panting, still fucking him. Rick adjusts his position and he's so, so deep and he fists Carl's hair and bites the back of his neck and it hurts but Carl's too fucked out to care. He feels the scratch of Rick's beard against his skin, face pressed into the crook of his shoulder, and then spills inside of him with a few stuttering thrusts of his hips.

Much to Carl's dismay, Rick pulls out and slides off to the side. Carl turns his head, cheeks bright pink, hair mussed, and looks at him, utterly wrecked.

Rick looks just as wrecked but leans forward and kisses him, soft and slow, and Carl sighs against his mouth. He's tired. He's so, so tired and he still needs Rick. He needs to be close to him, needs to touch him, and he turns onto his side and pushes himself into Rick's welcoming arms. He's still panting, legs trembling, but the pain of the entire weekend has melted away and been replaced by something so much better.

And it doesn't matter that it lasted only minutes; Carl wants it like this a hundred more times and then again, but for now he's content to fall asleep to the sound of Rick's pounding heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lbr did y'all expect anything different? 
> 
> i was gonna end this here but turns out there'll be 1 more chapter.


	6. Chapter 6

Carl wakes in the early evening to the sound of muffled talking, soon realizing that he is no longer using Rick's chest as a pillow. Instead, he's twisted in the sheets and quilt and has an unpleasant stickiness on his thighs. He's stiff and tired and sore but in a comfortable haze that overwhelms all of those other things. He crawls out of bed with nothing but the quilt wrapped around his shoulders and eases up to the door.

Whoever Rick is talking to—Lori, probably, because it's just like Lori to call and give Rick the full story before he even asks for it—is getting an earful. There's a very loud "goddamn it, Lori" followed by crash (presumably Rick throwing the phone against the wall) and Carl decides to investigate.

Carl stumbles into the living room, legs not fully mobile just yet. Rick is scrubbing his hands over his face. Carl sees the tension melt as soon as they lock eyes and Rick gives him a faint smile. "I wake you?"

"No," Carl says; they both know he's lying. "Who were you talking to?" he asks, though he already knows.

Rick pulls him close and hugs him, blanket and all. "Your mother," he says, letting out a breath. "Got the whole story 'bout why she asked you there in the first place."

Carl's curiosity peaks. "What?"

"Wanted to ask you to move in with her."

Carl laughs so loud that Rick jumps. "That's not happening."

"Told her that," Rick says, kissing his forehead twice. There's a beat of silence between them that's filled with the sound of Carl's growling stomach, followed by Rick's soft chuckle. "Hungry?"

"Yeah." Now that Carl thinks about it, he hasn't actually eaten anything since breakfast this morning. He was supposed to eat lunch at the picnic and, well. "Starving," he adds.

"Feel like cooking?"

"No," Carl sighs.

"Then get dressed, we'll go get somethin'."

"'Kay" He stretches up just enough to kiss the corner of Rick's mouth before he retreats into his bedroom.

—

They end up at the King County Cafe and seat themselves in the metal chairs outside. The heat has subsided substantially by now and there's a light breeze so they're comfortable wearing jeans and t-shirts. They sit side-by-side instead of across from each other.

Much to Carl's dismay, their burgers arrive quickly and leave little time for them to talk. It's stupid, it's so ridiculous, but he feels like they've been separated for months. He can't imagine how it'd feel to be separated from Rick for days on end.

And then, out of the blue, Rick looks over at him. "You really want a dog?"

Carl's chewing the last bite of his burger, nodding.

"We can go to the shelter, see what they've got," Rick suggests.

Right as Carl's about to say something, he's distracted by the sound of his phone notifying him of a text message. He's almost positive he knows who it is and sure enough when he glances over at his screen: **Mom: I'm sorry about this weekend. Please call me**

Carl doubts he'll be doing that anytime soon. He puts his phone in his pocket.

"Your mom?" Rick guesses.

"Yeah. Be right back," he says, standing up. "Bathroom."

He weaves through the cafe to the bathroom, closing and locking the door once he's in. He doens't actually have to pee or anything, just needs to get his thoughts together and clear his head without Rick seeing him and asking what's wrong.

Carl splashes cool water on his face and looks in the mirror. He tugs just barely at the collar of his shirt and the hickey Rick sucked earlier is visible. It's bright red and images of what they did earlier flash through his head and how is he supposed to go back out there with that lingering on his mind? He shakes his head, wills the images to disappear, splashes his face with cool water again, and decides that'll have to do.

On the way back to the table something catches Carl's eye and maybe it's subconscious, maybe it's not, but it's the picture of him, Lori and Rick that they hung here 7 years ago. He's so furious at the sight of it that he climbs up onto one of the red stools at the bar and snatches it down.

Outside, Carl sits the picture down on the table.

"What's that?" Rick asks, knowing full well what the hell that is.

Carl scoots his chair closer to Rick's, digging his phone out of his pocket. "Thought we should update it," he explains, opening the camera. He leans against Rick's shoulder, arm extended out and waits until Rick's smiling to take the picture. Carl checks to make sure it's good enough and it's adorable, to be honest. Rick gives him a hum of approval.

"I'll print it out when we get home, bring it back later."

Rick nods. "Ticket's paid. You ready to go?"

"Yeah."

They stand and when Carl reaches for the picture frame, Rick puts his hand at the back of his neck. And it's totally normal, looks just like something any father would do, but Carl really wishes Rick wouldn't do that in public.

—

They're sitting on the love seat, Carl's legs stretched across Rick's lap and Rick's hands resting on Carl's thighs. The news anchor is going on and on about a new flu-like virus, but neither of them are paying much attention. Rick is reading some tattered paperback book and Carl is playing on his phone—until his screen freezes, goes black, and the annoying white wheel starts turning.

He's tired and wants to go to bed, but resists the urge to even close his eyes because he doesn't want today to end. Although this morning was shitty, the rest of it has turned out to be one of the best. He's certainly never been fucked so hard before, so he guesses he should probably thank Lori for how things unfolded.

And then he remembers about how Lori is pregnant and how Shane is going to be a father to that child—his sibling—and although he doesn't want a sibling, he certainly doesn't want Shane to be a father to anything.

His stomach churns with the pain of betrayal and he wants— _needs_ —a distraction. He glances at the TV where they're looping viewer footage of something. Rick doesn't notice and that makes it easier for Carl to maneuver his way onto Rick's lap without protest.

As expected, Rick sets his book aside. "What're you doin'?"

Carl looks down at Rick who's wearing a white t-shirt and plaid pajama pants and reading glasses and bites his bottom lip. He wants to say something, come back with "What do you think I'm doing?" but his mouth can't form sentences and he just _wants_. He barely manages to slip Rick's reading glasses off before kissing him full force, tongue and teeth.

And maybe Rick was expecting it because he responds just as fierce: he lunges forward and Carl almost falls of his lap. He doesn't, though, because Rick catches him, strong hands against the small of his back and Carl whimpers when Rick pulls him incredibly closer. They're practically clinging to each other and Carl can't help but roll his hips with very desirable consequences.

Rick tangles one hand in his hair, yanking his head to the side and then Rick's lips are sucking at the nape of his neck and he feels Rick's hard cock pressing to the underside of his thigh. His hips move up and down in a desperate, wiggling motion because honestly Rick is holding him too tightly to do much more than that.

And then Rick bites his neck.

Carl responds with a sharp gasp and it'll leave a bruise, but he doesn't care. He decides that he definitely wants Rick's hot, wet, soft mouth everywhere. He's in luck: Rick's trails kisses up to his ear.

"Bedroom?" Rick asks, voice hoarse and low.

"Uh huh," he answers breathlessly. He drapes his arms over Rick's shoulders, hooking his legs at the ankles when Rick stands up. He groans softly because being manhandled is his favorite thing and Rick is so good at it.

They're down the hall and then in the bedroom and Carl is dropped on the bed. He lies back, legs spread and bent at the knee.

Rick, who was busy grabbing the bottle of lube from the floor, is visibly taken aback by the sight. He lets out a long sigh. "Look at you," he coos, voice barely above a whisper.

Carl's wearing Rick's denim shirt again, this time on purpose, and black briefs that couldn't be tighter if they tried. He bites his bottom lip for show, grazing his own fingers over the bulge in his underwear. "Hm?"

There's no warning when Rick grabs his briefs by the sides and pulls them off, pressing a single kiss to Carl's left hip bone. He pulls his own pajama pants down just enough to free his cock and Carl decides that he would very much like to be on top. He wastes no time in straddling Rick as soon as he's on the bed.

He kisses Rick, needy and clumsy, and hears the pop of the lube cap and then two sick fingers slide into him. He doesn't know if it's pleasure or pain or both, but he knows that Rick's certainly not working fast enough.

He bears down on Rick's fingers and they brush lightly across that spot inside him. He does it again, twice, until Rick finally gives up altogether and replaces his fingers with his cock. And then Rick's hands are on his hips and Carl's fingers are clutching the shoulders of Rick's white t-shirt.

It's good, but not good enough.

Carl collapses on top of Rick and tucks his face into the crook of Rick's neck. Like this, Rick has better leverage and starts to thrust, fast and deep.

Carl reaches blindly between their bodies and wraps his hand around his cock. He feels Rick's lips on him somewhere—his ear, maybe—but he's far too concentrated on his hand wrapped around his cock. He whimpers with every thrust, mouth creating a moist spot where it hovers over Rick's t-shirt as he pumps himself.

And then Rick readjusts them, batting Carl's hand away and replacing it with his own.

Carl's hips twist and with every thrust Rick's cock brushes just _there_.

He comes, toes curled, gasping.

He tries to focus, but Rick's hand is still around his cock and Rick's murmuring something incoherent and then he's coming, too, hot and wet inside him.

Carl sighs when Rick pulls out, heart still pounding, his whole body one dull ache. He knows he'll be sore tomorrow, knows that Rick's left marks on him everywhere, but can't bring himself to care.

Rick tucks himself back into his pajama pants and Carl gets up long enough to find his underwear and slip them back on. Back in bed, Carl stretches out and Rick presses his chest against Carl's back and drapes an arm over his shoulder.

Immediately Carl feels warm, secure, and very exhausted. He kisses Rick's forearm lightly; Rick sighs into his hair.

"Wanna go again?" Carl asks, voice soft. When Rick laughs, it tickles his neck.

"Don't think I could if I wanted to."

In the living room, the TV still buzzes.

Carl wishes this weekend hadn't happened, wishes he didn't have to go to school tomorrow, wishes he and Rick could just disappear from this life altogether. He knows he'll have to deal with the reality of Lori's situation sooner or later, but for now, he's content to lie in Rick's embrace. It's not much, but it's enough.

—

The next day, his world shatters.


End file.
